


I Mean This, I'm Okay (trust me)

by notquitepunkrock



Series: And One Time... [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: (pete's not frank), A Lot Of People Are Mentioned, High School AU, I Made Myself Cry, I mean I ship it but thats not necessarily what i wrote this as, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm so sorry Frankie, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, Trigger Warnings, could be frerard I guess?, wow this is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 21:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5264918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notquitepunkrock/pseuds/notquitepunkrock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or six times Frank was "bullied", and one time he wasn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Mean This, I'm Okay (trust me)

**Author's Note:**

> TW: child abuse (not explicit, but still), and referenced suicide attempt. Please be safe. <3
> 
> This is kinda much longer than my Pete story, but I like it a lot more, tbh.  
> Title from I'm Not Okay (I Promise) by My Chemical Romance

 

**~one~**

Gerard frowned at Frank that first day, while he was on the way to kindergarten with the Ways. A bruise was working its way out from under Frank’s (pink, awful, disgusting pink) sleeves - he had thought he had hidden it, but apparently not. The older boy pulled him aside, letting Mikey tromp ahead on the way to the elementary school, excited as young children always are before learning to hate educational buildings and systems and classrooms.

Frank blushed and pulled the sleeve of his pink shirt over his knuckles, hiding his face behind black hair. _Don’t tell him it was Daddy_ , he reminded himself, stumbling for an answer that could be believable.

“I, um, there’s this kid in my class and he grabbed my hand way too hard,” he stuttered out. Gerard narrowed his eyes in suspicion but didn’t say anything. After all, he was only nine years old himself. What did he know of mean fathers?

**~two~**

The second time, Frank was eight. He found himself in Ray’s house without really knowing the boy, dragged along with Mikey and Gerard who claimed that he was “really cool, honest.” He was hungry - no, starving - as he had been punished for dropping his dinner plate by not being given food the previous night. At Gerard and Mikey’s house, this wasn’t a problem. The boys ate like pigs anyway, as young boys are prone to do, so having one more (very) hungry mouth in the house was not a big deal to Donna and Don.

But Frank didn’t know Ray. He couldn’t just eat the kid’s food if he didn’t know him, regardless of how close he was to Gerard.

“Hey, Frankie, aren’t you hungry?” Gerard asked from Ray’s kitchen. Of course he hadn’t minded ransacking the kid’s cupboards. They were friends; meanwhile, Frank still wasn’t sure how he had ended up sitting at Ray’s dining room table.

Frank shook his head, waving his hand at Gerard quickly. “No, no thanks,” he said, ignoring the look Mikey shot him. (The kid was always so good at seeing through Frank’s lies.) It was at that exact moment that his stomach decided to growl - and Frank hated himself for it.

“You sure?” Ray asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s okay if you are, you know.”

“Yeah, Frankie. I don’t think I saw you eat lunch, you gotta be starved,” Mikey piped up. Frank took that moment to glare at his best friend, because really - he was supposed to be _helping_.

“You didn’t eat lunch?” Gerard let the fridge close, wandering back into the dining room carrying a bag of chips and four sodas. Despite Frank’s protests, he placed a soda in front of the boy.

“Y-yeah,” he muttered, searching his brain for his lie. “There’s this kid, Bob, and he decided to steal my lunch. It’s okay though, really.”

Ray frowned, getting up to disappear into the kitchen. He reemerged with a box of Pop-Tarts in hand, placing the whole box in front of his new friend. “Eat them,” he urged, settling down with a handful of Gerard’s chips and one of the sodas.

**~three~**

When Frank was ten, his dad left, and for a moment, he thought it would be okay. But then his mom started dating this new guy - someone who seemed nice at first, but soon proved not to be. At this point, Frank decided he was scared of men. Aside from, possibly, his friends, they were all awful, awful human beings. (And it terrified him that he was one.)

His mother’s new boyfriend liked to watch him when his mother was at work. He liked to take the opportunity to beat the Hell out of Frank. Frank didn’t know why, and he honestly had stopped caring, chalking it up to one of the frightening things about men that he hoped he never turned into.

He knew the rules - never let anyone know what’s going on at home. So Frank kept wearing long sleeves and had become particularly adept at using his mother’s make up to hide bruises on his face - this man wasn’t as careful about avoiding it as Daddy was.

Unfortunately, one day he was running late, and didn’t have time to cover up. Frank ran out the door with a jacket in his hand and his head ducked to hide the bruise on his cheek. When he got to school, he would sneak into the bathroom with the concealer he had filched, but for now this would have to do.

Once the purple mark was suitably hidden, Frank found his friends gathered under the twisty tube slide. Ryan and Tyler and Mikey and Joe had dared Brendon and Josh to climb up the outside of the slide, which meant his arrival was mostly ignored.

Only the older boys, who liked to pretend that they were above such frivolities (though Frank could see Pete eyeing the footholds made by the bolted together sections of thick plastic with longing) and Patrick, who honestly didn’t care what they did as long as no one got severely injured, weren’t watching the two third graders.

“Hey, you’re late,” Patrick observed from where he sat in the mulch under the playground. Frank shrugged, squeezing his hands together nervously.

“Yeah,” he said, “I woke up late.” Patrick nodded, scooting over so the (slightly) shorter boy could sit somewhere comfortably.

When Frank sat, Patrick smiled, and then froze. He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at Frank’s left cheek. Frank felt his heart stop, because there was no way that Patrick couldn’t tell he had concealer on. They were far too close to each other for it to not be obvious.

“Is there something on your cheek? It looks kinda bruised but I can’t tell,” Patrick asked, reaching out to touch the mark. Frank leaned back ever-so-slightly, just enough for Patrick to get the hint and drop his hand.

There was no way for Frank to deny the bruise now. He cursed himself for not being more careful. Maybe he should have just skipped school today, to give the bruise time to fade a little. It wasn’t a big one (this time).

“Yeah, uh, Bob elbowed me in the face on the bus,” he lied, hoping Patrick would forget that the last time Frank had ridden the bus was three weeks ago on the way to his house. Thankfully, he seemed to believe the lie, leaning back ever so slightly.

“I don’t like Bob,” Patrick muttered, “He keeps hurting you. I wish you would tell someone.” Frank’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t tell anyone about Bob, because Bob wasn’t bullying him - at least, not as badly as Frank made him out to be. Honestly, he hoped that he never had to make an excuse using that… asshole’s name again. Patrick would definitely figure out he was lying then.

Patrick, Frank decided, was far too observant.

**~four~**

This time it wasn’t a lie. When Gerard asked him what happened to his hand, he could honestly say that Bob had shoved him into a wall.

Except that wasn’t what caused three of the fingers on his left hand to break, and both of them knew it.

**~five~**

Frank limped after Mikey, thankful that his friend was too busy happily chattering away to Pete to notice the pained way he walked behind them. Pete had picked them up at school, and immediately started telling a story about something funny that Dallon had done, and how he couldn’t wait until they were in high school too.

They were headed to Pete’s house that day, because Mikey had told him last time they hung out that Frank and Ray played guitar and Gerard could sing, and Pete wanted them to play for him because _“how could you have kept this a secret for this long, Mikey, I thought we were best friends?”_

(Pete didn’t see the way Patrick’s smile dropped at that. Mikey definitely didn’t see the way Frank’s heart clenched painfully when he agreed that they were. Because both boys thought that those titles had already been taken.)

Gerard and Ray met them at the front of Pete’s house, and Frank was struck by how much he missed them. They were juniors this year, and Mikey and Frank were still eighth graders (almost-but-not-quite summer time made them almost-but-not-quite freshmen, but still), and it always seemed that whenever the two oldest boys weren’t around it threw the dynamic of the whole group off.

Though Mikey and Pete (and all their other friends, who had to go home before heading to Pete’s) hadn’t noticed Frank’s slight limp, Ray and Gerard certainly did. And while Mikey and Pete headed downstairs to set up, the older boys pulled Frank into the kitchen to “get snacks.”

“So what happened?” Ray asked, grabbing two six packs of soda from the fridge.

“Yeah, kid, what’s with the limp?” Gerard added, pulling a bag of chips from the pantry.

Frank blushed. He couldn’t tell them that his step-father had taken the belt to him for some minor infraction of a rule he didn’t know they had. What fourteen-year-old still got spankings? He didn’t want admit to that.

“Bob, uh, kicked me,” he said, “I got away before he did anything worse but it fucking hurts.” Gerard looked skeptical, though Ray seemed to believe it.

“Looks like Gee and I have to take a trip to your school sometime,” he joked, though they all knew he didn’t mean it. Frank chuckled humorlessly, and snatched up a container of Oreos, leading the way down to Pete’s basement.

**~six~**

“Watch it, you worthless little bitch,” Frank’s stepfather sneered, kicking his shins. Frank squeaked in pain and scurried up the stairs. When will Mom get home? he wondered, knowing that the second she walked through the door, his stepfather would be a perfect dad.

“Frankie, what was that?” Mikey asked through the phone, frowning though Frank couldn’t see him.

“Oh, nothing,” he said. “I was running away from some jerks and I twisted my ankle, and I guess it’s not quite okay yet.” He let out a forced laugh and prayed that Mikey didn’t hear what his stepfather had said. Luckily, he hadn’t as Mikey began telling him all about some painting Gerard had done that was going to be in an exhibition and _oh my God, he didn’t fucking tell you? That asshole, well, here are the details are you writing this down?_

**-ONE-**

Frank woke up to a voicemail from just about every one of his friends. His head was pounding, his body was aching, and he was pretty sure that his clothes and skin were covered in blood. He took a shower before listening to any of them, throwing on the same clothes he had worn before, because, regardless of the blood, he was too lazy to look for anything else to wear.

All of the messages said the same thing. “Get to the hospital. It’s Pete.” No one except Patrick told him why, though Patrick’s message was so filled with sobs and sniffles that it was difficult to make out much besides “suicide attempt.”

He was out the door before he could think about the consequences.

On the way, he called Gerard, ignoring the way his legs burned and his stomach twisted as he ran. What else could he do? He didn’t have a car, and his step-father would never let him drive the family’s vehicle.

“Where the Hell have you been?” Gerard asked the second he picked up the phone. Frank was about to make up an excuse when the older boy cut him off. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter, just get your ass over here.” He promised to meet Frank at the front doors and then hung up.

Frank ran as fast as he could, only stopping long enough to throw up in someone’s bushes. He swore under his breath when he finished, and forced himself to keep going. When he finally reached the hospital and spotted Gerard’s bright red hair, he felt relieved.

“What happened to your face?” Gerard asked the second he saw Frank. It didn’t matter that the younger boy was standing about five feet away from him at the time. Someone walking out turned to look, but they both glared at him and the man kept walking.

“It’s not a big deal,” Frank assured him, heading in the doors. “Even if it was, Pete’s more important than me right now.”

Gerard frowned at how tired Frank sounded, but he led him into the elevator. When the doors closed and they were the only ones inside, he brought it up again. “Seriously, Frankie, what’s wrong? Was it that Bob asshole again?”

Frank shook his head. “I’m _fine_ , Gee.”

Gerard wasn’t convinced. Frank usually had a reason for the injuries he sported, be it that he was being bullied by Bob or that he walked into something. But this time, he just avoided it - and this time it was so much worse than usual.

“Frank…”

“I’ll tell you later, okay?” he snapped, “Right now, let’s worry about Pete. What happened?”

Gerard sighed, not willing to let this go, but he knew that once he walked into that hospital room with all their friends covered in bruises and - oh god, was that _blood?_ \- he would be put through the fucking Spanish Inquisition with no choice in the matter. “He oded on Ativan,” Gerard said finally, watching the way that Frank sucked in a sharp breath. “He’s...doing okay now, but he’s under suicide watch - obviously - and it was pretty hairy for a while there. Pete’s acting like it’s no big deal but it scared the shit out of everyone, and his parent’s aren’t even sticking around for more than a few minutes at a time.”

Frank let out a humorless laugh. “Are we surprised?” he asked as the doors for the elevator opened. Gerard hummed in agreement, leading the short boy down the hall to Pete’s room.

When he walked in, it was as he expected. Every single one of their friends (even Jamia and Sarah and Debby and Jenna and Lindsey and Ashlee and wow did they really know this many girls?) was crowded into the small room, perched on chairs and the window sill, and plopped on the floor. There was just enough space for the doctors and nurses to get to Pete and a small spot on the floor that was clearly being saved for Gerard and Frank. Only Patrick sat on the bed, and Andy and Joe were in the chairs on either side, claiming their Best Friend status silently.

All eyes turned to Frank and Gerard as they walked in, and his felt his cheeks redden at the wide eyed stares they received.

It was Mikey who broke the (un)comfortable silence, and Frank wished he hadn’t.

“Jesus Christ, Frank, where were you? What happened?”

Frank burst into tears.

He hadn’t wanted to fall apart but after fourteen years (because no one, not even Daddy, could hit a baby) of being beat up and used as a punching bag, after being in this very hospital for broken ribs and broken fingers, after hiding bruises and belt marks, he knew in this instant all of his lying was falling apart.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out, “I’m not important, don’t look at me, Pete’s in the hospital not me, I’m okay, I promise.”

Pete frowned. “Did you just say you aren’t important?” he asked, looking around for confirmation. “Shit, Iero, yes you are. Please, let’s talk about you, because I’m really fucking tired of talking about me. And I think we’ve not talked about you for long enough.”

Frank was shaking and Gerard wrapped an arm around his shoulder. He fell into the taller boy’s side trying to feel safe, but really just feeling like he was broken. He stuttered out a “B-Bob…” but Mikey cut him off.

“Don’t give us that bull, I walked you home last night and you were just fine,” he said, furrowing his brow.

Frank wiped his tears on the sleeve of his shirt. “My stepdad’s not very nice,” he mumbled. “Neither was my real dad. L-Last night he got real drunk, and mom wasn’t home, so he just… he just had at it. He beat me up ‘til I passed out, and threw a bottle at me and...” He held back a sob as Gerard’s grip tightened.

“I’m always so scared I’ll fuck up and someone will punish me. I didn’t tell anyone because… I used to think that was just what dads did, and then I thought it was just men, and I’m scared of all our guy teachers, and your dads, and sometimes even of you guys, and I’m sorry, but… I’m just so scared,” he whispered.

Pete looked livid. “If I wasn’t in a fuckin’ hospital bed…” he muttered. Now that Frank thought about it, everyone looked pretty mad. He was pretty sure Jamia would strangle the man if given the opportunity.

“I-it’s okay,” he muttered. “I kinda deserve it.”

The room exploded into cursing and anger and Pete saying, “you know what got me here? Thoughts like that got me here!” and it was all too overwhelming. Any second, Frank was sure he would be hit - that’s what happens when people yell at him.

But nobody hit him. Instead, Gerard led him to Mikey and Ray, and forced him to sit across their laps as he cried, and he left the room to call Frank’s mom.

For once in his life, Frank felt really, truly safe.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, the ending sucks, but maybe let me know what you thought? Please?


End file.
